


Where Did We Come From?

by twitch



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Gingerpilot Week, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-21 14:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14917442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitch/pseuds/twitch
Summary: He didn't know where he was, only knowing that he had a pale head resting on his chest when he looked away from the crumbling durasteel and wiring that threatened to fall on them. Didn't even know who the man was but he wasn't about to leave him behind.





	Where Did We Come From?

**Author's Note:**

> For Gingerpilot Week, Day 2 - memory loss.

The room vibrated in time with the detonations, echoing closer with each explosion. It was so deafening that the few voices he could hear were shouting, rivaling the pitch of blaster fire. The shots were the only means of illuminating the darkness, only catching the corner of his eyes. He was limited to what he could see, staring up to a cavernous ceiling structured out of durasteel and countless wiring, splitting and spitting sparks.

Why was he in the middle of a battle?

Where was he?

Struggling to sit up he couldn’t get far, not only for the piercing pain in his side but also the throbbing in his head. 

There was also the pale head cushioned on his chest. Not that the man looked comfortable, his nose pressed awkwardly into his sternum. His arm weak he still lifted it, shaking with the whole effort of easing the man’s face to the side, letting him breathe. 

Except, in the dark, he was aware of a thick liquid trailing down his fingers, past his glove to stick, hot and cloying, on his wrist. It was the same colour that coated the right side of the man’s face, slicking his hair forward from the speckled matted mess it originated from. 

He held his breath before biting at his gloved fingers, hurrying to remove it, ignoring the spread of blood as he reached for the man’s face. Cold but for the blood continuing to pool over his hand, onto his chest. Fingers searched desperately until feeling the sluggish pulse at his neck. 

His head throbbed but he didn’t care. Struggling again to sit up, pulling the man against his body, he was forced to drop them both to the ground, rolling on top of the other man when blaster fire narrowly missed their bodies, barely ghosting his back.

He yelped when someone grabbed his elbows, pulling him off the man. Someone else was firing but not at him, or the man who remained motionless on the ground. They were returning fire, protecting them. 

Except they trundled away, hunching over or backing up, blaster fire getting too close to the man now that they were retreating.

“No!” He stomped down on the foot of whoever it was assisting him, kicking back with his other foot into the opposite shin. The hands released him, allowing him to take fast long strides, feet hitting the ground in three separate sounds, matching the shots that barely missed him. One shot struck the other man on the ground, catching somewhere around his shoulder. Someone echoed his cry, or so he thought, too distracted by throwing himself protectively over the man.

The walls of the room shook again, the ceiling raining more sparks and bolts that were weakening under another explosion.

Two sets of hands peeled him off, dragging him away. He was about to yell again, straining forward, but his body sagged in relief when the last of their party hauled the unconscious man up, slinging him over one broad shoulder, backing up while angling his blaster to where their attackers had been stationed, yet now silent except for the explosions.

He stumbled to keep up with his rescuers, running through the destruction, down a path he didn’t recognise.

When they reached the door, sunlight too harsh for his eyes, he fell flat on his face after tripping over a stormtrooper helmet.

He struck the ground, blackness returning.

*

The second time he came to he was in a dimly lit room, thankfully silent except for the steady sounds of the machine he could vaguely see up and behind his head. He tried to twist around to get a better look of the room but froze when his gaze landed on the bed beside him. 

He recognised the features but in the increasing light of the room pale hair turned out to be copper, askew over the white linens. He stretched his arm and fingers out fully, grateful that his touch found warm skin along the inside of his arm. 

He didn’t know who the other man was but it didn’t stop the urge to curl up in the same narrow medical bed with him. 

He was considering the best way to move his IV to the opposite side of his own bed to let him into the man’s bed but the door opening stopped him, leaving him to remain seated with his legs over the edge of the bed, between them. “Good to see you awake Commander,” a doctor greeted him with a warm smile. 

He blinked at her before glancing to the slumbering man. “He’s not awake yet ma’am.”

Her lips almost pursed but the only thing she pressed was a button of a comm that she kept in her doctor’s coat. “I’m actually addressing you. You’re a commander in the Resistance.”

“I am?” He wanted to curl his fingers between the man’s fingers but instead he tightened his grip on the durasteel bedrail.

“Yes you are, you’re Commander Poe Dameron, squadron leader for the Resistance.”

With his free hand he tangled his fingers into his hair, wincing for the pull of the IV in his skin but also a faint throb returning to the back of his head. “I can’t be. Not only do I not remember it but… why would I have been on the ground?”

“I wish I could tell you but the only one who could give you answers is him.” His throat was too tight to speak even if he knew what words he wanted to say. Instead he listened to the doctor, shaking his head slowly. “He was critically injured and though we’ve stabilized him he suffered severe brain damage. He’ll likely have memory loss too.”

“Who is he?” Poe asked, feeling tears well up in his eye. 

“Do you recognise the name General Armitage Hux?” He shook his head, breath catching with her next question. “Do you remember who the First Order is?” 

He clamped his hand over his mouth, feeling his cheeks dampen. “I – I don’t.”

“It might be better that way for now. You can take comfort in knowing that he was responsible for saving your life,” she explained. From the corner of his eye her grave expression provided a sad smile. “And you saved him.”

“Is that a good thing?” Poe asked, fingers shaking when he lowered them to the thin mattress. 

“We’re hoping it will be.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you are interested you can follow me on [Tumblr](http://centurytwitch.tumblr.com).


End file.
